


In Plain Sight

by Copper_Nails (Her_Madjesty)



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Adrenaline Junkies, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon Universe, F/M, Found Family, Gen, The Shopping Adventure That Went Wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 11:49:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12726090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Her_Madjesty/pseuds/Copper_Nails
Summary: The records Draven keeps on her claim that she was born on Coruscant, in a hospital not far from the Imperial Palace. If she cared, Jyn feels certain that she could rouse up a memory or two of the city-planet: family dinners, maybe; electric lights blurring as she walked the streets with her mother while they ignored the Galen-shaped emptiness in their apartment.





	In Plain Sight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashmandalc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashmandalc/gifts).



> There will be several notes on this fic that was supposed to be short but turned into a bit of a monster. Thank you again, ladymailwan, for the prompt!
> 
> 1) Jyn carries two comms in this fic: a primary, in her ear, and a burner.  
> 2) The tone gets weirdly bitter in the middle; ignore that, if you like.  
> 3) I spent way too long on Wookiepedia looking up different types of ships and trade goods.  
> 4) The shop primarily mentioned here, Valentina's Closet, is a parody of both Hot Topic and Victoria's Secret all wrapped into one. Enjoy that, if you can.  
> 5) This is rated a low mature because I realized about halfway through that the theme is a little...odd, and maybe a bit relevant, /and/ I want to add something interesting to this later (mentioned below). 
> 
> All that said, I'm a bit nervous about this fic; the tone's a little different than what I usually go for, and I didn't start out wanting it to take place in the canon universe, but I hope you, ladymailwan, and everyone else enjoys it! 
> 
> (There may be a NSFW coda coming in the near future, by the way, so watch this space?)
> 
> XOXO

The records Draven keeps on her claim that she was born on Coruscant, in a hospital not far from the Imperial Palace. If she cared, Jyn feels certain that she could rouse up a memory or two of the city-planet: family dinners, maybe; electric lights blurring as she walked the streets with her mother while they ignored the Galen-shaped emptiness in their apartment. It’s not pleasant, though, nor does it do her any good, so instead, Jyn ducks her head and ignores the familiarities of the architecture supporting the largest mall on Coruscant’s 3204th level. There are a thousand shadows and two decades separating her from her child-self, and she no longer has any desire to bridge the gap between them.

Despite this, Level 3204 is familiar.

It is, Jyn knows, one of the last refuges for the still-living people of Alderaan. While she doesn’t have the tongue to mirror their accents, the grief she allows to contour her face does her speaking for her and lets her blend into their pacing crowds.

It has been two standard weeks since the Death Star obliterated Alderaan, and just under a week and a half since the Death Star was, in turn, destroyed. “Victory is a gift to the survivors,” Jyn remembers Mon Mothma saying, tears streaming down her cheeks while her hands clutched a throw away piece of Death Star rubble.

Jyn, relief pounding in her chest, had bitten her tongue to keep from responding. Only when Mon Mothma had moved back to the warmth of the Council did Jyn duck her head and grumble, “Victory doesn’t bring back the dead.”

Bodhi, trembling to her left, had slung his prosthetic arm around her shoulder with only a heartbeat’s hesitation. They’d stayed together, quiet through the initial rush of celebration, while, away from them, Chirrut had knelt by the Wall of Remembrance with Baze standing guard at his side.

(It’d been Cassian who’d been hardest to find, emerging from the war room with bags under his eyes. Jyn and Bodhi had found him huddled in oen of Yavin IV’s darkest halls cradling a bottle of Corellian whiskey in his lap. They’d settled down beside him, neither mentioning the tears on his cheeks, though Jyn had reached out to wipe them aside.)

Now, she makes her way past a strand of merchants selling kabobs and a pop up pretzel shop, eyes fixed on her target: the entrance to a gaudy, faux-worn textiles vendor: Valentina’s Closet. Jyn comes to a brief stop in front of the window and pretends to focus on one of the trinkets on display. She doesn’t let herself grimace as a pair of security ‘troopers passes behind her, silent other than the systematic smack of their boots against tile.

“There’ll be another pair in fifteen minutes,” Bodhi murmurs through the primary comm in her ear. He’s settled, Jyn knows, back on their transport, a heavily modded Sheathipede nestled in the safety of the level’s trading docks.

“Which means you have ten for the first pick up,” adds another voice – Cassian. “Remember: no additional targets. We get our contacts, and we get out.”

Jyn allows herself a quiet snort. “I have done this before,’ she reminds her partners, turning away from the window. She marches through the open front of the shop, eyeing the two false doors – designed to look like metal gates – with no little suspicion.

The Bothan behind the counter is wearing the store’s grungy, black uniform and smiles at her with too many rows of teeth. Jyn can’t quite make the muscles in her face return the expression, and she knows it must show – Cassian’s huff in her ear is almost amused. Jyn glances at the security droid behind the front register and narrows her eyes.

(Cassian may be a good slicer, but she’s better.)

“Focus,” Cassian reminds her.

Jyn does not – _does not –_ stick out her tongue.

“Anything I can help you with?” the Bothan asks.

“Maybe.” Jyn presses her hip against the store’s front counter and glances around the shop. Two Mandalorians walk into the store hand in hand, oblivious to the nervous tick of her eyebrow. “My boss told me I had a pick up here. Apparently some _shabuir_ bought out half of your stock for a party up on Level 2491.”

The Bothan’s toothy smile twitches. “Damn right,” she says, stuffing her hands into her pockets. “Kriffing elitists, too good to come down here.” She looks ready to spit, but Jyn watches her force her face back into composed neutrality. “Do you have the order form on you?”

Jyn glances towards the Mandalorians as they harmlessly pluck at a rack full of corsets. She makes a show of patting down her jacket pockets, though the swearing that accompanies the display is as real as it gets.

“I must have left it on the ship,” she grumbles, at last. It causes her physical pain to bat her eyelashes, but Jyn does. For the mission. “Can’t you make an exception?”

Bodhi snickers in her ear. Jyn grinds her teeth and waits for the Bothan to pick up her cue.

Alliance contact or not, the Bothan hesitates for long enough that Jyn feels sweat start to bead on her forehead. It takes a concentrated effort for her not to slump when the Bothan finally sighs.

“You’re cute,” the vendor grunts, moving out from behind the counter. “Don’t go telling anyone about this, alright? I can’t be this easy with all of my orders.”

“Thank you so much,” Jyn gushes. She nearly breaks character as she sees the Bothan hide a laugh.

(“Cute” is not a word with which Jyn is often described.)

They pass over the threshold to the shop’s back room, and Jyn drops the friendliness of her persona, scowling at the mismatch of excess. Huddled in the mess, behind racks of the Empire’s gaudiest, is a family of five. One of the children is asleep on her brother’s shoulder; the other two stare back at her, wide-eyed, while their mothers glare.

“Maija?” Jyn tries. The name earns her a wince from the shorter of the wives. “Yash?”

“Who are you?” The taller of the wives – Yash Balthazar, friend to Leia Organa and forcibly retired professor of informatics – demands.

“Can’t answer that.” Jyn shoves her hands into her pockets and tries not to appear as impatient as she feels. “I know that doesn’t make me particularly trustworthy, but you’re going to have to live with that if you want to live at all.”

To her surprise, Maija snorts. “She’s Rebellion,” she says to her wife. “They’re all cocky now that the Death Star’s gone. Like it’s done any good.”

Jyn tightens her hands into fists and is glad, momentarily, that they’re out of sight. All the same, she sees the children exchange nervous glances as her scowl grows.

She doesn’t say what she wants to – that whining won’t bring back their planet; that the propaganda machine is already calling the Empire’s involvement with the slaughter “fake news”; that the Imperial-sponsored holonet has news networks calling the occupants of Level 3204 “an infestation too close to the capital to go unaddressed.” What the news doesn’t mention, Jyn knows, is the increased number of raids, gassings, and military presence on Level 3204; a systematic silencing of continued intergalactic violence.

In light of this, Jyn takes in the family in front of her – intellectuals and innocents painted as wanted criminals – and _does not_ grit her teeth. “Come on,” she says, trying to soften her harsh edges. “I have friends down at the docks who are going to get you out of here. We’ll have to go in shifts, but you’ll be on the hyperlanes before the cycle’s out.”

She winces as one of the children sniffles, but otherwise holds as still as she can. Saw taught her long ago to school herself, so Jyn shifts her gaze to the mothers and waits. And waits. And waits.

Maija moves first. She lets go of her wife’s hand and reaches for the youngest child, instead.

“Take two,” Jyn advises.

“How do we know you’ll come back?” Yash asks. She clutches at her son’s chest, eyes wide with simmering rage.

Jyn pauses. Curbs her tongue. “You could just trust me.”

It’s more sarcastic than she means it to be, but it makes Yash laughs, even as the professor spits on the floor.

“What’s going on?”

Cassian’s voice in her ear surprises her so much that Jyn winces. She turns away from the family but doesn’t bother to lower her voice. “Just a delay. First delivery should be soon.”

“Confirmed. Be careful.” There’s a quiver to his voice that draws Jyn up short. “Another round of ‘troopers just arrived at the docks. They may be headed your way.”

Jyn swears. Behind her, she hears one of the children gasp. It takes all of her professionalism not to roll her eyes.

“Okay,” she says, looking back at the family. “I need three of you. You’re going to be getting into a cart,” and she juts her thumb towards one of the manual vehicles nearby, “and you’re going to stay there, under a pile of clothes, until I say it’s safe to go.” She crouches, despite herself, and looks Maija’s children dead in the eye. “You’re going to have to keep quiet, or else we won’t make it off the level, let alone the planet.”

It’s not the right thing to say, but it stills the whole of the family save for the boy, who curls into Yash’s shirt to muffle a weak sob. Jyn meets Yash’s glower and accepts her indecipherable tongue lashing with neutrality.

Maija lets out a sigh, then ushers her children forward. Her expression, when Jyn readies the cart, is bland, but Jyn’s trained long enough to notice the slight trembling of the woman’s fingers.

“If you get my children killed,” Maija says, reaching for a nearby jacket, “not even the Force will be able to save you from my wrath.”

“If your children get killed,” Jyn responds, “you and I will be dead with them.” She lifts the youngest of Maija’s children into the air and tucks her into a corner of the cart, then wraps her in a pair of jackets parodying Imperial flight suits.

“Jyn,” Cassian mutters again. “You need to get moving soon.”

“Don’t rush me, _captain_ ,” Jyn replies. She lets Maija lift her other daughter, then helps the woman scramble into the cart.

As her contacts disappear beneath cashmere and leather, Jyn offers Tash a sarcastic salute. She grips the cart by its handles and backs out of the storeroom and into the shadows of the shop proper. The Bothan at the counter is tapping away at her comm, but she steps away from her register to hold open the door.

“I’m going to have to make one more trip,” Jyn admits, hoping that she’s managed to sound apologetic. If Bodhi’s snort in her ear is anything to go by, she’s failed.

“Well,” the Bothan sighs, “at least we’ll make a killing of all this.” She lets the door to the back room fall shut before casting a wary eye out towards the rest of the mall.

Jyn makes a quick sweep of the store and notes that the Mandalorians have left.

“You take care, alright?” the Bothan says.

Jyn raises an eyebrow, but she offers her contact a nod. “I’ll do my best.”

The Bothan nods. “Then I’ll see you soon.”

When nothing more comes, Jyn looks away from the Bothan and her droid and continues on her way out of the store. The bright light of the mall stings and leaves sunspots behind her eyes.

“You’ve got two minutes before the next round of ‘troopers pass,” Cassian tells her. “They may have set up a check point near the major exits.”

“Of course they’ll have,” Jyn huffs. “Boss, _I’ve done this before_.”

The pseudo-formality silences him as much as her annoyance does. Jyn embraces the quiet and focuses on the crowd around her: mourners, Imperials, shoppers of all sorts.

“I know, Jyn,” Cassian says, at last. It comes out as soft as a sigh.

Jyn knows better than to wait for an apology. She grunts in response and carries on.

Some of the clothes in her cart shuffle as she moves past the food court. Jyn swallows and then winces as the familiar thunder of bucket head boots bounces off of the mall’s clean tile. A squadron passes her with little issue, though one of the ‘troopers at the back of the line twitches as they round the nearest corner.

Jyn feels her throat grow tight. She adjusts her course and starts to count the seconds she spends between breaths.

As she passes the glass-sealed, artificial park at the mall’s core, she sees the windows begin to fog over with rain.

“Jyn -”

She hears her own name over the primary comm before the mall’s loudspeaker begins to blare.

“Citizens of Level 3204,” a chirpy but otherwise neutral voice intones, “due to unanticipated severe weather, the Windrider Mall requests that you remain within the enclosed property until it is safe to leave. Your emperor thanks you for your diligent and thoughtful service to your community and your Empire.”

Jyn glances out the wide windows again and narrows her eyes. Above her head, the security message repeats itself.

The clothes in her cart shuffle again. Jyn lets out a warning hiss and glances around the area, trying to calculate her options.

“Jyn.” Cassian’s voice is firm and unfrightened. To Jyn’s surprise, it stills the sudden rabbit beat of her heart. “Have you made it out of the mall?”

“No.”

Cassian swears.

Jyn closes her eyes against the concerned murmur of the surrounding crowd. “There’s a fire exit not far away,” she whispers, ducking her head to avoid the gaze of a passing swarm of cam droids. “If I can disable the alarm, it’s an out.”

“Do it,” Cassian orders. “I’m on my way.”

“What?”

Jyn waits several seconds, but Cassian doesn’t respond. She swears again and hears an aborted giggle leak out of her cart. As subtly as she can, she kicks at its structure and begins to push towards the mall’s fire exit.

Another burst of bucket heads passes by. This time, more than a few of the ‘troopers hesitate when they see her.

Jyn forces herself not to scowl.

She settles in next to the fire exit, cart on one side of her, door on the other. After scanning the crowd, Jyn pulls out her burner comm and begins to fiddle with its buttons – just a grunt checking in with her boss, nobody important, nobody suspicious. In the meanwhile, she presses against the cool wall and pulls a tooth-sized datacard from her pocket. With a click and a whirl, her burner lights up with the blueprints from the mall’s latest expansion. A few passes of her fingers lead Jyn to security diagnostics, then to her chosen door.

“Citizen.”

Jyn looks up. A captain flanked by several ‘troopers stares back at her, two heads taller and with skin the color of pears.

“Can I help you?” Jyn asks. “Or better yet, can you help me? I’ve got to get these clothes to my transport; my boss needs them up on Level 2491 as soon as possible, and she’ll find any excuse to fire me.”

The Imperial captain looks unsympathetic. “ We’ll need to examine the contents of your cart,” she says. “It’s not safe for anyone to leave the facility at the moment, given the...weather, but I have no doubt that you’ll be free to go in good time.”

Jyn is fluent in the language of threats; it takes all of her self control not to snap back at the captain, even to resist the urge to flinch. “Fine,” she huffs. She pushes the cart forward with the toe of her boot. “Take a look.”

As the captain leans in, Jyn feels the outline of her blaster pressing against the small of her back. She takes care to keep each of her breaths steady. There are several different routes she can take back to the docks, but it’ll be difficult to coordinate with Maija if the Imperials give chase, and that’s not even considering the near impossibility of breaking back into the mall to retrieve Tash -

She’s shocked back to the present by a distant scattering of blaster fire.

The Imperial captain lurches away from the cart, leaving the clothes there undisturbed. “Fall in,” she orders her subordinates. “Stay down, citizen, and stay out of trouble. I’ll want a word with you, later.”

Jyn offers her a half-hearted salute as the captain and her bucket heads trot away, their pace admirably controlled in comparison to the scurrying citizens retreating from whatever violence has broken out. She waits until the squadron is out of sight before letting out a soft, relieved breath.

“Jyn,” Cassian barks in her ear. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Jyn returns her attention to her comm and, with a few swipes, undoes the alarm on the fire exit. She spares a glance for the crowd as another blaster shot rings out, then backs throw the door with her cart, hesitating only to stick a wadded-up sweater in the gap.

“Are you out?”

“Yes.” With little decorum, Jyn taps against the side of the cart.

“Good.”

Even outside, Jyn can hear the sounding of a third round of blaster fire.

“I’ve just gotten inside, myself,” Cassian says. There’s something too casual, Jyn realizes, about his tone, but she’s distracted by the appearance of a small head and wide, frightened eyes. She hauls the first of Majia’s children out, then accepts the mother’s help with her second. Majia forces a jacket out of her face and swears. All of the color has drained from her face.

Jyn offers her a look that’s only half sympathetic, then returns her attention to her primary comm. “Bodhi, I’m going to send the first batch your way. Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Despite herself, Jyn snorts. She turns back to Majia and ignores the nervous way the mother gathers her children to her. “You need to get to dock 1121,” she tells them, careful to keep her voice low. “Ask for Captain Willix. One of his subordinates will take you on board and keep you safe until your wife and son can join you. Okay?”

Jyn waits, but none of the party responds. With a huff, she glances backwards towards the still-open fire exit.

“You,” she says, crouching to look Maija’s oldest in the eye. “Tell me what dock you’re going to.”

The girl blinks at her through teary, blue eyes. Jyn grinds her teeth to force herself to be patient while she slowly repeats her dock number.

“Well done.” Jyn prides herself in keeping the bulk of her sarcasm out of her voice. She straightens up, cracks her back, and winces as she hears another round of blaster fire begin. “Get moving,” she orders her companions. “The rest of us will be on our way soon.”

Maija, brow still creased, only hesitates for a moment before giving Jyn a nod. “Thank you,” she says as she ushers her children away.

Despite herself, Jyn lets out a barking laugh. “Don’t thank me yet,” she replies. She bites down a flash of guilt as some of the confidence drains from Maija’s face.

Jyn watches until the party has rounded the nearest corner, then grabs her cart and moves back through the fire exit. The crowd inside the mall has dispersed, and the blaster fire in the distance still smacks against the tile. Jyn eases the door to the fire exit shut, readjusts the clothes in her cart, and starts back towards her pick up.

“Cassian,” she murmurs as she walks, “where are you, exactly?”

She waits half a minute, then several heartbeats longer.

“Bodhi?”

“Here, Jyn.”

“Half of the party is headed your way.” Jyn takes a long breath and forces her steadily increasing heart rate to slow. “Did Cassian say where he was going?”

It’s her keen ears that pick up Bodhi’s subsequent sigh. “He told me not to tell you,” he says, voice tight with annoyance. “He said he was going to – well, be your distraction.”

Another round of blaster fire rings out through the mall.

Jyn closes her eyes. “Kriffing idiot.”

She doesn’t allow herself to run back to the shop, but she does speed walk. The bucket heads who pass her pay her no mind, but nervous citizens stare, their hands twitching towards empty blasters or weaponized clothing stands. Jyn forces herself not to make eye contact and focuses instead on the task at hand. Not everyone on Level 3204 is at risk, she reminds herself; some of them would even turn her targets in if they thought it would makes their lives on Coruscant a little easier.

It tastes bitter on the back of her tongue, the universal bite of desperation.

Jyn doesn’t bother to hide her scowl as she storms over the threshold of Valentina’s Closet. The Bothan behind the counter glares at her, all evidence of her previous friendliness wiped from her face. She’s traded her comm for a sawed off blaster that, to her credit, she hesitates to point at Jyn. “What did you do?” she demands. “I thought you were supposed to be subtle!”

“I am,” Jyn deadpans, “when my contacts aren’t shouting accusations at me in the middle of a job.” She waits until the Bothan looks properly chastised to continue. “Anyway, whoever’s out there, they’re not with me.”

She hears Cassian let out an undignified grunt in her ear as he fires off another blaster shot and, despite everything, almost laughs.

The hunch of the Bothan’s shoulders relaxes, if only a little, but Jyn keeps her eyes on the vendor’s blaster. “Get what you need and go,” the Bothan snaps, glancing over Jyn’s shoulder and out towards the rest of the mall. “The sooner this whole ordeal is over, the better.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Jyn hums. She pushes her cart into the store’s back room and is greeted at once with the sight of Yash and her son shivering in one of the back corners.

“It’s alright,” Jyn tells them, even as Bodhi hums nervously in her ear. “Your wife and siblings are safe. Come on. It’s your turn, now.”

“They’ve just gotten here, actually,” Bodhi tells her. “Jyn, you’d better hurry.”

Jyn huffs even as her newest wards approach.

“Are you lying to us?” Yash demands. Her grip on her son leaves her knuckles white. “Did you turn my wife over to the Imperials?”

“If I had,” Jyn drawls, “why would I have come back for you without a squadron?”

“To trick us!” Yash spits.

“Look, you can believe whatever you want,” Jyn says. Annoyance wriggles in her chest, but she shoves her hands into her pockets and forces a look of utter disdain onto her face, even as Yash’s child tries to burrow into his mother’s legs. “Are you going to get in the cart or not?”

Yash’s teeth, just barely starting to yellow, glow in the deep shadows of the shop.

“Can you hurry it up?”

“Fine.” Yash picks her son and lowers him into the pile of clothes in the cart. “But if you’re lying, I’ll see your intestines used for sausage casing in the cheapest of 3204’s butcheries!”

Jyn doesn’t allow herself to be impressed by the threat, but it’s a near thing.

“Jyn.” Her heart leaps as Cassian’s voice returns to her ear. “I’m pulling back. Are you on your way out?”

“Almost, you _wermo_ ,” Jyn snaps. Cassian’s laughter in her ear is bright and endearing; Jyn nearly smiles, but focuses, instead, on covering Yash’s unruly limbs with as many layers of clothing as she can. “Maybe let me know when you’re running into fire next time instead of relying on Bodhi not to tell me.”

Cassian snorts, then goes quiet. Jyn hears a few final rounds of blaster fire as she drags her cart out of the shop’s back room. The Bothan grunts as she goes but doesn’t bother making eye contact.

Jyn doesn’t blame her – not really. The Bothan disappears into the shadows cast by the mall’s bright light, and Jyn drags her cart through the tittering and unruly crowd. Cassian, she knows, draws the bulk of Imperial attention with him as he goes. Still, the odd bucket head or two pass her as she makes her way through the mall. Some of them, she notes, are limping; others have removed their helmets entirely and look out across the crowd of Level 3204’s present citizens with passive, unaware disdain.

It’s their distraction – the slight disorientation behind their eyes – that lets her make it to the fire escape unscathed. She’s just pressed her back against the door, hand on her comm, when a pair of them break from their stupor long enough to glance her way.

“Hey!” one calls out, pulling her arm away from her companion. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Jyn looks up, all the while listening to Cassian swear into her ear. “Making a delivery,” she says, the repetition of the encounter making her impatient. “Don’t you have more important things to worry about right now?”

The ‘troopers fan out, trying, despite their injuries, to flank her from both sides. Jyn drops her hands to her sides and tries not to shift, feeling all the same for each of her stowed weapons: the blaster at the small of her back, the truncheon in her boot, the thin knives holding together the tight knot of her hair. If she moves quickly enough, she can disarm one of the ‘troopers, but the echoing of a shot is more likely to bring the whole of local Imperial attention down on her head than it is to help her, in the long run.

“Step away from the cart,” one of the ‘troopers says. “We don’t want to hurt you.” He punctuates the statement by motioning towards Jyn with his blaster, the whine of it so tightly wound that Jyn has to resist the urge to cover her ears.

She waits a heartbeat more, then looks around with a sigh. “Not going to happen,” she says, almost regretful, as she fishes her truncheon out of her boot.

She aims for the weak knee of the ‘trooper to her left and sends him smashing to the floor. He sprawls out, twitching, as she addresses his partner. Jyn moves backwards until her back is pressed against the fire escape; when the ‘trooper lunges, she pushes, and the door swings open. The ‘trooper flies into the alley, and Jyn follows after her, cart and bounty in hand. A swift blow to the neck leaves the ‘trooper slumped over, buying her a minute, maybe less.

“Come on!” she orders, reaching down into the cart. The child comes out first, eyes wide with fright. Yash follows just behind, pushing clothes off of her head and scowling.

“I thought you were subtle,” she sneers.

“Everyone keeps assuming that,” Jyn snaps back. She sets Yash’s son down on the duracrete and starts to jog, motioning for her companions to follow.

“We’ll head for the docks,” she says, once they’ve caught up. She slows as the alley comes to an end. Out in front of her spills the mall’s vast lot, filled to bursting with level transports, speeders, and wandering Imperial forces.

Jyn presses her lips together and, eyeing Yash’s nearby son, definitively _does not_ swear.

“Cassian,” she murmurs, turning away from the lot. “Where are you?”

“Little busy!” Cassian mutter back.

Jyn lifts a hand and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Okay,” she says to her companions, “here’s the plan.”

Yash and her son lean close as Jyn speaks.

By the time she’s finished, both mother and child look skeptical, but they also nod, ready to move.

With a final nod of confirmation, Jyn steps out of the alley.

She holds her head high and makes no attempt to hide as she walks across the duracrete of the parking lot. All the same, it takes half a minute for the first of the bucket heads to notice her.

Behind her, and out of the line of fire, Yash and her son slip into the shadows.

Jyn watches as several viewfinders turn her way. She reminds herself, as adrenaline starts to pump through her veins, that now is a rather inappropriate moment to smile.

Still, it’s hard to resist the urge.

“Jyn,” and again, there’s Cassian’s voice, ready at her ear. “What are you _doing_?”

“Who says you get to have all the fun?” Jyn replies. With that, she leaps behind the nearest speeder and starts to run.

The ‘troopers don’t hesitate to give chase.

Jyn weaves in and out of parked vehicles, ducking low to avoid the onslaught of blaster fire. She moves quickly, but the thunder of ‘trooper boots rolls behind her, gaining in intensity and pace. It’s easier to keep her eyes glued to the edge of the parking lot, where Coruscant reappears en mass, the open area giving way to tight alleys and a crush of shadowy buildings.

“Where did you go?” Cassian demands. “Kriffing hell, Jyn; answer me!”

“Busy!” It’s breathless and full of near-laughter, but Jyn can’t bring herself to feel guilty. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Yash and her son retreat, and relief floods her chest.

A blaster bolt catches her in the shoulder. Jyn swears, long and loud, but she doesn’t stop running.

She reaches the edge of the parking lot and leaps over the duracrete barrier. Coruscant parts before her; people scatter and let her fold herself into the shadows, never stopping even as she’s obscured. The ‘troopers follow just behind, their movements less elegant but their intent clear. Jyn winces as, behind her, Level 3204’s citizens begin to scream. There are no more blaster shots, only panic, but Jyn knows the power of panic well.

She turns one corner, then another, only to be cut off by a man on a grey speeder. Jyn snarls at him, then pulls back a fist as he pushes his face shield out of the way.

“What are you doing here?” Jyn demands, even as she scrambles onto the back of Cassian’s borrowed speeder.

“Retrieving a friend,” Cassian replies. He passes her a helmet, then slams his face shield back into place. “She’s not the brightest; tried to take on a couple of squadrons all on her own. Have you seen her, by any chance?”

The comm in Jyn’s ear picks up the delighted sound of her laughter just as it carries his exhausted exasperation. “Can’t say I have,” Jyn replies, wrapping her arms around his waist. She ignores the flashes of white that appear in her peripheral vision and lets Cassian guide the two of them away from the worst of the panic. It’s easier to close her eyes and feel the press of Cassian’s breath, the stretch of tight muscle that makes up his back and chest.

Jyn feels something in her heart begin to relax, if only for a second.

It takes several minutes, but eventually, Cassian slows, integrating the two of them into regular traffic in order to lose their Imperial tails. All the same, Jyn maintains her grip. The helmet makes it difficult for her to press her head to the crook between his neck and shoulder, but she does her best.

“You didn’t need to come and get me,” she tells him. She means to chastise him, but her voice comes out gentler than she intends.

Cassian huffs. It’s the amusement there that catches her off guard; it mirrors the energy still pushing her to flee, to press close, to hold her breath in anticipation.

“Didn’t you say something about having fun?” he asks.

Despite her better judgment, the throbbing pain in her shoulder, and the forever taste of fear, Jyn throws her head back and allows herself to laugh.


End file.
